


The Bait

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 12:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester ‘s Dating Dean Writing Challenge on Tumblr. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one…Smut. There is smut. Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday. Yeah. (Did I mention there’s smut?)Also the Sailor Mars fan art is by Leandro Franci on Deviant Art  http://lenadrofranci.deviantart.com/art/Sailor-Mars-201214685





	The Bait

You smile to yourself, smoothing your hands over the costume hidden in the trunk in the corner of your room. This plan will either kill you by breaking your heart, or – well, it may kill you either way, but there are worse ways to die.

Because if –  _if_  – Dean is actually hiding his attraction to you, like you suspect, he won’t be able to resist the bait. If not – well, then, you’ve humiliated yourself to the point of no return, and you’ll have to leave. But the truth is, it has come to that. Either you let him know how you feel, and hopefully find out that he feels the same, or you’ll have to leave anyway. Because it’s been tearing you apart. 

The Winchester boys have been a part of your life for some time now. You’ve shared hunts, laughter, victory and defeat with them. You’ve joined Sam in making fun of Dean’s love of Asian cartoon porn. 

And that’s why, in that trunk, lies the centerpiece of your little plan of seduction. 

You get up the day of his birthday, heading to the kitchen to execute part one in your plan. Birthday pie.  You’re making apple and cherry, because he loves both. Sam has been enlisted to take him out for a couple of drinks later on in the day, giving you time to get ready. Then he’s promised to make himself scarce for the rest of the night, grinning at you as he teases that he doesn’t want to be around for whatever you have planned. 

Dean loves the pie, even gives you a hug and kisses you on the forehead when he thanks you. He seems a little hurt that you won’t go along to the bar with him and Sam, but he lets it go. Sam winks at you over his shoulder as they head out, and you blush. Time to take a deep breath, work up that courage, and get yourself ready. 

You make the deep dish pizza, complete with garlic bread, clean the kitchen and shove the pizza dish into the oven. Then you head for the shower, and in an hour you are clean, soft and smooth, and the perfume you don’t use except on the most special occasions is making even  _you_  attracted to you. You pull the costume out of the trunk, your stomach full of butterflies. What if he doesn’t find this sexy at all? What if he just laughs at you? What if…. STOP. Just stop, you scold yourself. Just put it on, and what happens, happens. 

You stand in front of the mirror after you’re dressed, glancing from the picture in your hand to your reflection. 

You slip the matching heels onto your feet, straighten the huge bow at the back, and fasten the little choker around your neck. Your hair swings below your shoulders, dark and shiny, just like hers. You slip your fingers into the gloves, smoothing them up over your arms, then give yourself one more look, comparing to the picture in your hand. Your heart is pounding, and you bite your lip as you gaze at your reflection. “Well,” you mutter under your breath, glazing your lips with just a touch of color to match your outfit, “here goes nothing.” 

You can’t breathe as you hear the door from the garage slam shut, and you hear Dean’s voice as he heads towards the map room, where you stand waiting. “Some brother I’ve got, taking off back to the bar to hit on some chick. Good thing you’re here, Y/N…” 

He stops halfway across the room as he sees you, as if he’s hit an invisible wall. His eyes widen, his tongue comes out to sweep across his lips, his mouth dropping open. For a heart-stopping minute, you think he’s going to laugh, or turn around and leave. 

“Fuck me. Am I dreaming?” he asks softly, and you stand there, still, your heart pounding. “Sailor Moon? I mean, you’re – you’re Sailor Mars?” 

“Happy birthday, Dean.” Your voice is hushed, breathless, and you actually feel a little faint as he finally moves towards you slowly. 

He stops in front of you, his hands at his sides, his eyes taking in every detail. His gaze moves from your hair to the dress, getting lost in your cleavage for a moment, then down to linger at the hem of the very short pleated skirt, grazing down the length of your thighs, and gradually moving back up till he meets your eyes. “Holy shit, sweetheart – tell me you’re not just messing with me.” 

Now or never, remember? You bite at your lower lip, and you see his eyelids flutter the slightest bit at the sight. “But – don’t you want me to mess with you, Dean?” 

Now his eyes close for a second as he groans softly. “Oh, hell, yes. Mess with me, baby.” 

You step closer, barely an inch between you now, and reach your gloved hand to touch his face. His eyes close as you sweep the backs of your fingers down the line of his jaw, trailing your finger, encased in the silky glove, over his bottom lip. You raise your other arm and push his button-down off his shoulders, pulling it from his arms and dropping it to the floor. He sucks in a breath as you slip your fingers beneath his t-shirt, raising his arms to let you pull it over his head, and it joins his other shirt behind him on the floor. 

His muscles are tense, twitching slightly as you touch him, gliding your gloves over his shoulders, down his chest, your fingertips pressing a little harder as they brush across his nipples, and goosebumps raise over his skin in waves. He curses under his breath as you reach his waist, and he toes off his boots and socks as you drop his jeans and boxers around his ankles. 

You fight for a moment to regain your own composure as you take in the sight of him, naked, standing before you. His chest is heaving, his color high, freckles decorating his lightly tanned skin. Your eyes skim over his muscular thighs before coming to rest at his erection, flushed and throbbing, and you long to touch him, to taste him. You take his hand in yours, leading him to the next room and waiting for him to lower himself to the sofa. 

You lower yourself to the floor between his feet, and he groans again in anticipation. As you move your silk-encased fingers up his length, he leans forward and seizes you by the shoulders, crashing his lips into yours, kissing you until you’re both desperate for air. He stares into your eyes, his forehead against yours, breathing hard as you continue to run your fingers over him. “You’re gonna kill me, baby. But if this is my last birthday, I’m okay with it,” he manages to say before you close your hand around him, and he throws himself against the back of the couch, moaning. 

You take both hands and encase him in your grip, the silken fabric teasing at him, the heat from his body warming your hands. You keep your eyes on him, bending to swirl your tongue over the tip, the taste of his arousal bursting in your mouth. You suck the head into your mouth, and Dean’s hips buck up a little in spite of his effort at control. You move one hand down, cupping his balls, fondling them gently as you take more and more of him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, and he is almost writhing under your touch, incoherent noises spilling from him in an almost endless stream. 

His fingers are buried in your hair, and he tugs gently, urging you to pull off of him with a wet pop. “Give me a second,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes closed as he backs himself away from the edge. 

You reach to touch his thigh, but he grabs your wrist, shaking his head, and you smile just a little.

When you look up at him, his eyes are glowing, and he blows out a tense breath. “Can you… can you take off the top? Leave the skirt on?” You nod, rising to your feet, your bottom lip between your teeth. “And the panties. Take the panties off.”

You pull the top of the costume over your head, shaking your hair back out of your face, and Dean’s eyes devour the sight of your breasts, nipples straining against the tiny white lace bra. You reach beneath the skirt and pull down the matching panties, letting them drop to the floor and kicking them off along with the red heels. 

“Come and sit on my lap, baby.” You straddle him, and he grabs your hips, pulling you down hard against his erection, and you whimper at the sensation of him, hot and hard, slipping through the slick between your thighs. His mouth closes over a nipple, still encased in lace, and his tongue rubs over it roughly. He backs away, pulling his hands from your hips long enough to jerk the cups of your bra down, tearing the delicate lace on one side, but you could care less. And when he sucks your nipple back into his mouth, rubbing the tip with his tongue and scraping lightly with his teeth, you grind down against him, putting the pressure you seek on your clit, and coming apart over him, soaking him with your release. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he unfastens your bra, caressing your back as you come down from your high. “Do you have any idea how hot you are?” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers through you. “I mean, I always knew it would be, if we ever… But holy shit, sweetheart. You’re fucking unbelievable.” When you finally raise your head, he kisses you, gentle and sweet at first, then hungrily as desire begins to peak again. “I need to be inside you,” he growls softly, and you lift yourself up as he guides himself to your entrance. His hands rest beneath your skirt, cupping your ass as you let yourself slide down slowly over him, encasing him in your velvet warmth, both of you moaning loudly as you take him in entirely. 

“Dean…” you whine softly, and he squeezes your cheeks, pushing up against your core and holding still, his jaw clenched. 

“I gotcha, baby,” he grits out, then moves his hips a little, making you cry out. 

“Dean, please… pleasepleaseplease…” You’re begging him, for what you don’t know, but you know you’re putting yourself entirely in his hands at this moment, body and soul. He senses your surrender, your trust in him, and with a little growl he begins to thrust up into you, just rocking you back and forth on him at first, then actually pumping in and out, harder and harder. His grip on you is almost painful, but the pleasure is washing over you in waves, and when he leans in to capture your nipple between his lips, sucking hard, you scream hoarsely as you come, violent spasms shaking you to your very foundation. Before you have a chance to hit the crest and begin coming down, he is exploding inside you, heat pumping into you as he swells and throbs within you. You collapse against him, your breasts crushed to his chest, your bodies slick with sweat as his arms wrap you up, holding you tight. You both tremble with the intensity of it all, and it is some time before either of you attempts to move. 

You shudder as Dean’s fingers trail down your back, and he pulls back a little to look into your face, one hand brushing the hair from your face. “You okay?” 

Your lips curve in a satisfied smile, and you nod. “I’m so good, you have no idea.” You look at him, your eyes meeting his affectionate gaze. “I was afraid… I thought maybe you’d laugh at me. That maybe you didn’t want this.” 

A crooked little smile curves his lips, and he looks down before meeting your eyes again. “I didn’t. I mean, I tried to not want it. Because I knew you’d be better off. But it’s been getting damn near impossible to keep my hands off you lately, and now… You just made it completely impossible. I’ll never be able to leave you alone. You just fucking broke me, sweetheart.” 

You shift on top of him, and you both wince a little as he twitches inside you. “You don’t look broken,” you whisper, stroking your glove-encased hand over his chest, brushing over his nipple and making him catch his breath. 

“Yeah, well… my birthday’s not over yet,” he quips, moving closer. As his lips capture yours, one last coherent thought flies through your mind.

“Thank God for Asian cartoon porn.” 


End file.
